I didn’t have the time to decided when his voice came again. “-if you walk out like that, people would think you’re guilty or something. You aren’t, are you?”
His words, it stroked a nerve in me. My eyes peeled open, and without a second thought, I turned around, “What? Guilty?” I scoffed, my eyes meeting that of the unknown man in the picture. I had to tilt my head up, because somehow he’s taller than me-fair enough because I’m short but still.
I could swear my knees weakened upon seeing who it was, and I was a few seconds away from collapsing on the ground. I found myself taking a few steps back, my mouth falling open as my eyes took in a familiar face that I’d somehow engraved in my memory.
I no doubt resembled a gaping fish out of the sea-a messy fish struck with what she hoped isn’t real. “-You…” The word escaped past my lips, as I tried to wrap my head around the man’s face. Somehow, I hoped he wouldn’t reply, and that I’m merely imagining stuff.
***
Isabella Montague.
His lips slanted into a boyish, amused smile. “Yes. Me.” He didn’t deny it-reminding me that this is all real. He then leaned down to meet my height, yet again reminding me of his height over mine. “How was your night, Isabella?”
Even if I’d forgotten his face, I wouldn’t forget the way my name rolled out of his mouth-there’s a particular way he just does it that makes it sound different.
I blinked yet again, still finding it hard to accept and all. “How…”
He pressed his lips together, feigning confusion. “What do you mean, how? After you kissed me to get back at your ex, or the kiss later on and how we ended up here?” The corners of his lips tilted upwards slightly towards the end of his statement.
It was as if his words were a key to my memories, because I suddenly has flashbacks of a few scenes I had forgotten. This time around, I could see his face vividly in the flashbacks. I remember initiating the kiss after he’d saved me from James, and I remember my hands unbuttoning his shirt…
“No.” I was quick to shake my head, convincing myself I did, we didn’t go any further. I hesitantly met his gaze, with mine that were hoping otherwise. “We…” I swallowed thickly. “…we didn’t sleep together or anything, did we?”
He held my gaze, not answering though his smile slowly widened, giving him an even boyish expression. He suddenly shrugged, “I don’t know. You tell me, Isabella.” He unfolded to his full height making his way back to the nearby couch.
“We didn’t…” I’m not sure, I just want to believe that rather-and for him to confirm it.
He looked over his shoulder, “Whichever sails your boat,” He turned around to pick up something on the couch, before faced me again. Closing the space between us, he carried on. “But if you’re going to sneak out, then you should cover up.”
Before I could react, he stepped even closer, draping a suit jacket over my shoulders, the scent of his cologne instantly filling my olfactory lobes. “It’s chilly outside.” He added, taking a few steps back.
My brows drew in, wondering where the act is coming from. I don’t even know who is he, or his name to begin with and yet, we’re so entangled. He leaned down, and got on his knees. Instinctively, I took a few steps back, stunned.
“What are you doing?” I couldn’t even hide the accusatory tone.
He tilted his head up. “What? Do you think I’m proposing to you after just one night together?” he quirked a perfectly arched brow, his expression serious.
I scoffed, looking away. “Of course not, do I seem like the naïve type to you?” I didn’t think such, but why did his words make me feel as though I did-and I feel embarrassed by it? And…does it mean we did spend the night together?
Stupid Isabella. I scolded myself. I just had one task, gain connections at the ball last night and not get involved with any man. I’ve made up my mind and vowed to not get entangled with any man after what occurred with James, and yet, all in one night-I kissed this stranger-whatever his name is, and may or may not have slept with him after a couple of drinks.
The most annoying fact is that I can’t even recall whether I actually did or not, especially not when all the evidence proves so. I hate myself for being so careless. I should’ve known better.
My response had him chuckling, his face breaking into a small grin-and I hate how the deep sound had my stomach in knots. “No, you seem like the feisty type.” He picked up a paper bag I hadn’t realized was beside me, and pulled out a box from it. “My type exactly.”
Opening the box, it revealed a pair of beautiful flat shoes. He picked it up, and placed it front of my legs. Then, he lifted his head to meet my curious gaze.
“–Will you put it on yourself, or should I do it for you? You know, like Cinderella and the Prince?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.